


Random Word Generator: Detonate

by LesMisgayrables



Series: Random Word Generator Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Word Prompt Meme, Post Reichenbach, actually it's more like blink-and-you'll-miss-it angst, so lame but i have no inspiration really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John come back home after a case, in which Sherlock tricked John into an ambush to protect him, and John isn't happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Random Word Generator: Detonate

**Author's Note:**

> No actual case here; it's just the fight after. And then forgiveness. It's as lame as it sounds.

Sherlock followed John up the stairs for once. As soon as he was in the living room, John slammed the door closed and rounded on Sherlock, nose dirty with dried blood.

“What the _hell_ was that, Sherlock?!” Sherlock refused to look to his eye and avoided John’s angry stare just so with an annoyed look of his own. “Just why did you do that? Why did you bloody lead me into a trap?!” Sherlock said nothing, still, but John’s tone was getting on his nerves and his mouth twitched in a silent growl. “You knew I’d have no way out, and yet you still choose to bloody _send_ me there.”

Sherlock shrugged and looked up defiantly. There were a few beats of tense silence before John lost it.

“ _Say something, you dick!!!_ ”

“The killer had a gun, John! I was not going to risk it,” Sherlock finally shouted back. John’s face coloured slightly.

“You were not going to risk it? You call that not risking it? I was nearly overthrown, Sherlock. They were seven. _Seven_. A gun is nothing compared to seven fucking massive trained henchmen,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I got you in time! Besides, you weren’t losing your ground.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t like to be saved?!” he nearly screeched. “And that’s not even the point here. What the fuck makes you think that sending your friend away to a possible death just so you can get what you want faster is okay?”

“You were not going to die, John! I had it completely under control; you’re overre–”

“Don’t you dare tell me I am overreacting. Don’t you _dare_. And I don’t give a flying fuck if you had it _under control_ , you prick; I didn’t know what was bloody happening until I received a fist to my face! Where in that massive brain of yours is that okay?!”

John was like a ticking time bomb, where the first pips come very far apart, and the closer it gets to detonation time, the faster the pips come; and right now, John was about to detonate, but who knew what he would do when or if he did.

“I said it was for your own safety, John–”

“I cannot possibly fathom how you could reason it like that!”

“Stop interrupting and listen to me!” shouted Sherlock.

“Sherlock, both of us could’ve died!” his temper rose again. “I could’ve been beaten to death! This is you experimenting on me all over again! Did I not tell you not to do it again?! Did you learn nothing from Baskerville, all those years ago? Or from the Fall?!”

“Oh, this again?!”

“This again? _This again?!_ ” John’s fisted knuckles went white and his face completely red. He was so close to losing it, and Sherlock really wasn’t helping the case. “You fucking…”

“Fucking what, John?” Sherlock taunted and got closer to him, almost invading his personal space. John took a steadying breath, although it didn’t help much.

“Do not undervalue those three years, Sherlock Holmes. Do not try to take away the importance–”

“I told you why I did it! I came back almost six months ago, John; it’s time enough to get over it.”

“How can I bloody get over it?! I suffered, Sherlock. I suffered and it was all in vain because you’re a fucking prick who couldn’t trust me.

“Stop playing tricks on me. Stop dismissing me,” John said roughly, “stop doing things to me when you know they will hurt! The drug, your disappearance, this stupid stunt…”

Sherlock moaned and pulled his hair. “ _It was necessary, John!_ Why can’t you, for once, see my reasoning?! I was saving you, both with the Fall and today!”

“Well, for you information, I nearly got knocked out cold, ey, so excellent planning!” John bellowed. Without thinking, he pulled the detective close by the belt and his head back by the hair. Sherlock moaned quietly. Neither of them had noticed what they were doing. “And when you were gone, there were so many times I was really close to dying, and I would’ve liked it,” Sherlock’s face changed colours with this statement, but John was oblivious to what he had revealed. “You didn’t save me with that, Sherlock; you took everything away from me and then didn’t kill me!” he bit at the jawline and put a hand on Sherlock’s waist; he responded by curling a hand around John’s burning neck.

“What do you mean you nearly died?” Sherlock asked gravely.

“Well, what would you have done?!” the doctor turned away and clenched his eyes shut as to not to cry. “Gone back to being a junkie? Or maybe you wouldn’t have cared at all that I had _died_ and you’d simply look for another flatmate,” both anger and despair arose in him again. “Or you could’ve presented yourself as a target to anybody who looked armed, or you could’ve initiated fights in alleys or pubs, or you could’ve taken my Browning and stare at the trigger wondering what would happen–”

“John…” Sherlock looked stricken.

“Shut up, Sherlock! Just _shut up!_ ” John turned around, grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat, and pulled him close again, burying his face in his neck. Sherlock stood, immobile. John punched Sherlock’s chest lightly. “Don’t do that again. I don’t know if I could stand it…” he punched him again with each plead, until it was barely more than a weak poke.

“I’m sorry, John,” he placed a barely-felt kiss on his forehead, then on his left eyebrow, “I’m sorry…” on the corner of his eye, on his cheek, “I won’t do it again. Forgive me,” he lifted John’s chin and conveyed how regretful he was with his stare. The patches of skin that Sherlock had kissed tingled annoyingly, so he scratched and then looked up again.

“You mean it?”

Sherlock cradled his face like it was something fragile and precious, and then lowered his lips to brush against his. _Yes_ , it said.

“I still don’t forgive you for today, though,” he said softly. “I’m still pretty annoyed…” he ran his eyes through Sherlock’s face, stopping on his lips, only then realising what had happened. He spoke just as softly as before: “What are we doing?”

Sherlock’s lips shifted into a minute smile before chastely kissing John’s again; once, twice, testing out the waters. _I don’t know_ , it said. John wound his hands around Sherlock’s neck and parted his lips just so. _Let’s figure it out_ , it said.


End file.
